I have a little black book. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I even purchased it while I was with Renae shopping. It’s one of those Moleskin lined blank books that fits in the back pocket of my jeans: a perfect place for my little black book! All I have to remember is to carry a pen. For those of you younger than forty, pen and paper is what we used back in the cavedweller days of my education (except for the mathematicians and scientists, who used pencil, since their disciplines changed constantly while I was growing up: no one ever heard of “New English,” but New Math and Quantum Physics change daily!).
My little black book is full of quotations. As someone who has to stand up in front of people all the time and talk, I learned over the years that not everyone wants to be limited to my particular brand of wisdom. Plus, I haven’t found that many people running around quoting me constantly (proof that there is still some native intelligence in this country and in Christianity, despite everything we do to prove the exact opposite). But the people in my little book are quite quotable!
My mother was famous for her quotes when we were growing up. She went from the occasional cliche to the deepest wisdom available. I remember that she had pleurisy when I was in high school (she asked me to teach her Sunday School class for four or five Sundays while she was laid up, and there are actually people alive who survived my brand of teaching: I told ghost stories, and still their parents let them come to church! But that’s a story for another day). We were all worried about her and would sit on her bed and ask her how she was and what we could do for her. She would look at us (I realize now that she was quite young, probably in her late thirties) and quote her favorite pastor, “Roger always says, ‘This, too, shall pass.'” And we believed her and knew that we could face anything if we had the right quote. She also foretold the weather: “Red in the morning, sailors take warning; red in the night, sailors’ delight!” I still dread the days when the morning sky is pink.
Since it’s Lent, I thought of sharing a few quotes, words my campers here at Christmount have heard summer after summer in one form or another since 1989. Forgive me if I don’t interpret them for you. Enjoy!
Thomas Merton said, “The spiritual life is, first of all, a life.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, of all people, wrote this incredible thought: “The essential thing in heaven and earth is…that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.”
I keep reminding myself of this from Thomas a’ Kempis in The Imitation of Christ: “Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.”
“See everything; overlook a great deal; correct a little,” – Pope John XXIII
“Anybody can observe the Sabbath, but making it holy surely takes the rest of the week.” – Alice Walker
“A life without a lonely place, that is, a quiet center, easily becomes destructive.” – Henri Nouwen.
And my hope for each of you today, from Christopher Robin to Pooh (via A. A. Milne):
“Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”
Blessings, my friends.
About jamiebrame
Greetings, fellow earthlings. I'm the retired Program Director at Christmount, the national retreat, camp, and conference center of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), in Black Mountain, NC. From September 2019 through October, 2020, I served Timberlake Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Lynchburg, VA, as interim minister. After taking more than a year off, First Christian Church (DoC), Wilson, NC, offered me the position of Interim Minister, beginning May 10, 2022.
Originally from Eden, NC, I graduated from John Motley Morehead High School, earned a BA in Religion and Philosophy at Atlantic Christian College (now Barton College), and eked out a Master of Divinity from the Divinity School at Duke University. I served, in various positions, churches (part time and full time) in North Carolina and Georgia, and have lived in Black Mountain, NC, since 1989. I married Renae in 1992 (she refers to these years as "looooooooooong" years.
I've spent the past 50 years or so trying to practice Christian contemplative prayer with some touches of Zen meditation to help the journey along. Married to a wife who is much holier than I am, I am fortunate to learn from her daily about how to do this thing called spirituality. Being an ordained minister doesn't make me holy (but occasionally, as you'll read, a little sanctimonious, so forgive me in advance!); but I hope that I put my education to good use.
I'd love to be considered a spiritual teacher, but I know myself too well to claim that. While I do a bit of teaching, I think the best teaching we do is when we remain silent (the old desert abba said something like, "if you won't learn from my silence, you won't learn from my talking"). But silence shouldn't turn into quietism, and we do have to speak out and act for justice and fairness and equality for all.
I frequently ask myself the question, "Does it matter?" about the major - and minor - issues of the day. What I think matters: love for God, equality, fairness, loving our neighbor, feeding hungry people, housing homeless ones, clothing naked ones, and especially caring for children; basically, caring for those who have some trouble caring for themselves. AND our relationship with God.
What doesn't matter: what you think of me. I'm not very Christ-like. You won't hear me talking about all the things I do for others, or all the things I do for God - I was taught that It's not about me, and using good works to get attention for myself isn't what Christian faith is about - look up "narcissism" on Google. I'm not sure Jesus thinks it matters much that I am like him or not, but I do. The old story from the rabbis is probably apropo: when I am hauled up before God at the end of time, God isn't going to ask me why I wasn't more like someone else: I will be asked why I wasn't more like me. The rabbis tell the story better.
I'm still a work in progress, as Renae will attest to.
Finally, I just hope that something you read here will make you think. Use what you can, ignore the rest. Go read some of the desert saints. Read the classics. Take care of people, never point to yourself, and don't follow me: I'm just hoping to be one more signpost to God.
And as one friend reminded me the week before I left Christmount, "It matters."
Oh, and my favorite color is probably blue, and I love cats, and I love my wife's music. I don't like beets.
Does It Matter 